


Close to Me

by ThatwasJustaDream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Gentle Sex, Goth Castiel, M/M, Rough Kissing, Struggling Student Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3947899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatwasJustaDream/pseuds/ThatwasJustaDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean hates that fricking song, and he's not too crazy about his 'effed up roomate at the moment, either.  College AU in which Castiel needs The Cure at high volume and Dean needs a cure from Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written to a weekend challenge prompt on the 1_million_words comm. Prompt was: 'Your music's way too loud but that's my favorite song!' This is a very liberal take on the prompt at best but it's where the muse went. :)

**_I’ve waited hours for this / I’ve made myself so sick / I wish I’d stayed asleep today…_ **

“Jesus fuckin’ _Christ_ , Cas….” Dean’s brain-shatteringly hung-over head is in his actual hands as he navigates blindly toward the kitchen and the coffee machine that’s somewhere on the far counter. “Do you have to? Do this? Now?”

As in, play this _craptastic_ music so goddamn loud at _seven in the kill me now a.m_ on a Saturday? 

It was the over the top, faux-ironic peppy hand clapping part that woke him and started this misery. Who listens to Emo on purpose anymore?

Castiel does – Cas, who has been up for hours from the look of things once Dean gets water and a filter and a half a pound of grounds going and can see a bit straighter. 

There’s a fresh canvas stretched against the one bare living room wall that is set aside for Cas’ work, and there are cups, bowls, tins of paint in a variety of dark, deep, goth-endorsed shades on the coffee table. Plus there’s Castiel, in a sapphire blue wife-beater and black jeans; paint brush, long fingers and palms stained from flinging round after round of deeply heartfelt color at his blank slate, from smearing and tracing his hands through the purples and maroons and sickly greens ‘til he’s as stained as his Tabula Rasa if not more. 

It sinks in on Dean that Cas has been playing the same song on a loop and… _that’s_ why it woke him as much as the messed up, turn-it-to-eleven volume. Cas has probably played this stupid fricking song fifteen times. Dean probably heard it at least five before he even knew better and….

Yeah, they both have their issues but damn… Cas can be a real mess even for an art major.

“Hello, Dean. I do. Have to. I’m … sorry…. I wouldn’t if I …didn’t….” 

“Are you? Really? ‘Cause I think that’s bull, man… I think you’re clueless as to how bullcrap _this_ is ….” Dean stops in mid-harangue, one eye shut again and the other barely open at the sight of Cas spinning in circles, arms starting to swing randomly. He’s going off the rails – he’ll be flailing soon, slam dancing off the frigging walls.

“What, Cas? What the hell’s the matter with you now?”

“I’m…. stuck,” Cas says, nodding at his work in progress like it’s hurt his feelings. The expression on his face, the one eyebrow arching, his eyes turning a smoldering dark blue, gazing down at Dean like he might be the cure for _stuck_ and…oh…no….

Dean braces.

“Don’t you dare. My head will bust open if you do, I swear. You know what time I was up working ‘til….”

Working at the garage after classes and then drinking at the bar, sure, but… still…point is he can’t….

He barely gets the words out before Castiel is there, pushing him at the ‘fridge. Dean’s back slams into it, then his head, Castiel catching him as he bounces off it, groaning. Then Cas is pulling him in tight, hands finding Dean’s hip, his neck, a hot, hungry, pent-up mouth on Dean’s, tongue demanding he open up for him, teeth working his lower lip until there's a sting and the tang of his own blood on both their mouths and…

“No… _fuck_ , Cas, no…” Dean tries, turns his head, but he hears how weak his own protest sounds.

Then he’s gasping and turning back to him, giving Cas as good as he’s getting in the sucking and biting department and…he’s lost in it: That sweet, hot, hungry mouth, those blue eyes half open, staring into his as their full-body kiss turns to groping and grabbing and...

They’ve been roommates for two months and fuck buddies for one. Normally Dean’s more than up for Cas’ brand of rough but….oh, not today. No. Just... no.

“Please… Castiel… stop. I ….mean it, I can’t…not like…this…”

Cas finally hears him, and lets go of him so fast that Dean stumbles. He sees Cas stepping back, eyes wide like he’s just really surfaced, too and he’s visibly mortified.

“Dean, I’m so sorry, I…thought you were merely …grumpy. I didn’t realize... you are really hurting, today, aren’t you?”

“I might fail out. This semester. Cas, I might not make it through school. Found out yesterday. That’s why I….”

“Would it be the end of the world if you don’t?” Cas asks, his voice suddenly soft and patient, and when he talks to him like that Dean feels as if they’ve known each other forever. For entire lifetimes.

“Everyone will say ‘I told you so,’” Dean shrugged. “They expect me to fail.”

“You’re not alone in that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. My brothers… taunt me. My father… I can’t get word from him lately, he can’t be bothered with me.”

Dean’s not sure if he moves first or if Cas does, but they’re wrapped around each other again. This time it’s as comforting as the first time was rough – mouths loose, hands roaming, holding each other lightly but still so close. 

Dean only ever had boxers and a Henley from the middle of his dirty laundry pile on him; Cas has both on the floor before they hit the sofa. 

Cas is wriggling out of his black jeans, scooting down, mouth finding the tattoo on Dean’s chest and licking, sucking at it like he’s maybe a little obsessed with it, like he doesn’t have tats of his own all over his arms, his back, trailing down one side of his abs.

Dean is licking ink, soon, too; the script along the back of Cas’ cock that reads ‘Eat Me’ in florid lettering. Then he’s being flipped on his belly and … he’s gonna have paint trails all over his ass, his hole but he’ll worry about that later. For now he’s too busy letting go- of space, time, tomorrow’s test, the paper he can’t seem to write, his boss at the garage who is absolutely a demon sent to fray his last nerve.

All of it recedes; all he feels is Cas at his most gentle – taking him, fucking into him like Dean’s the best thing he’s felt ever, worshiping Dean straight out of his brain with his touch and his deep, long sighs. 

Which, as it turns out, is exactly where Dean needs to be.

**_But if I had your faith / Then I could make it safe …_ **

“Oh God… oh…hell….” 

“What?” Castiel asks as they collapse, still in Dean.

“We’re … a mess….”

“I’m sorry,” Cas pulls out; they each make a sound that’s part relief, part objection. “It’s water-based, it should wash off of you fairly easily…”

“Not talking about the paint, Cas. Or your jizz…”

“I suppose that’s water-based, too. Technically.”

He feels Castiel sink in by him, chuckling darkly, hand digging around at the sofa cushions. He sees him come up with the remote for the stereo and aim it right as the peppy hand clapping starts for the hundredth fricking time.

“No,” Dean knocks his arm down. “Let it play.”

“You hate this song.”

“Yeah, well… I did. But we hadn’t fucked to it then. Let it go once more…then turn it off, okay? Silence would be heaven.”

They both settle in, and Dean knows without another word that Cas is unstuck now – he’ll finish his painting today. Who knows, maybe he’ll sell it like the last one, and their rent will be covered.

“Dean….”

“Ummmm?”

"It'll be okay."

"It will, huh?"

“Yes. And I’m very sorry that I woke you up, but… I’m glad you woke up.”

“Yeah… me too, buddy.”

He has no idea what will happen to them - to him, or to Cas – but lying here in a sweaty, hung-over, fucked out, water-based-paint and jizz stained pile…. 

For a blissful moment, Dean couldn’t care less.


End file.
